Memories
by Ptrst
Summary: A 2 chaptered oneshot oxymoron, I know. What could she have done that she had to punish herself like this? She lays dying in his arms, and he remembers...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: It's a one-shot I wrote a few nights ago, just for the hell of it. The pairing will become obvious within the story. I repeat, it is a **one-shot**. Just thought I'd re-clarify that. Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Forgive any typos, this has not been beta-approved.

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"It's alright," he said in a quiet but firm voice, doing his best to hold off his tears. "It'll be fine. Everything will be alright."

It wouldn't, of course, and he knew that. But as she lay, shaking, in his arms, he felt that he needed to say something, give her some words of comfort she would never remember. He was almost certain that she could still hear him; he doubted, however, that she could understand.

"Soon, it won't hurt anymore. Won't that be wonderful?" This time, he was telling the truth. Soon, it would all be over. She was shaking terribly now, a sign that the poison was nearing its goal. He tried even harder to keep his tears hidden, but one escaped despite his efforts and slowly fell down his cheek. He held her tighter.

She was sweating furiously; her entire body was soaked, he could feel it through both of their clothes. Part of him wanted to strip off her clothes, cool her down, but he knew it wouldn't work, and he didn't want to disrespect her.

He had given up any hope of not crying in front of her by now; he knew she was too far gone to know the difference, anyway. He wiped off her face with one sleeve, still holding her with the other arm, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Tears falling freely, he wondered if she had known what the poison would do to her. Of course she had. He wondered why she had chosen such a horrible way to go. It would have seemed virtually painless in comparison if she had waited and let the Dark Lord kill her. She must have been punishing herself for something when she chose it, though he couldn't for the life of him imagine what. She had done little wrong in her life, certainly nothing to deserve this caliber of punishment.

He remembered how his father had reacted, after his first year, when he found out that he had been bested by a Muggleborn. He remembered hating her for making his father disappointed in him. He also remembered silencing the part of him that admired her for it.

He remembered wishing, in his second year, that she had been killed by the creature in the Chamber of Secrets, rather than petrified. He remembered fighting the thought that it would have been better had she not been attacked at all.

Her breathing became more rapid now, though the shaking began to subside. Not long now.

He remembered when, in their third year, she had slapped him. Nobody had ever dared lay a hand on him before that. Again, there was fury, but he hadn't been able to entirely silence the admiration this time. He acted as though he had.

She was so hot it burned him to even touch her. He knew the pain he got from contact with her bare skin was nothing compared to hers. He wiped her face once more, and stroked her cheek softly.

He remembered their fourth year; it had been particularly eventful. First at the Quidditch World Cup. The Death eaters had been torturing muggles, and he knew that muggleborns and half-bloods would be next. The part of him he hadn't been able to silence made him warn her. And at the Yule Ball –

He stopped his thoughts. She was no longer shaking. Her temperature had dropped suddenly to something near normal. He knew she had anywhere from five to ten seconds left. The one respite the poison offered – a few moments, right at the end, with a clear head.

Weakly, she smiled at him. "Thank you," she said – barely a whisper, but he heard it as clearly as if she had shouted it.

She twitched once, a sudden spasm. She was gone. He held her even more tightly than he had been before, and he cried. Not just tears this time, but huge, gasping sobs. He sat for a minute like that, but a minute was all he dared. Carefully, he laid her down on the small bed in the room and pocketed the letter on the nightstand. He leaned over her body, her sweat-soaked clothes and bright red face, and he saved the image in his mind as the last time he would ever see her.

He wiped the tears from his own face, cleared his throat, and left the room, turning the light off behind him. Nobody would know he had been there, and nobody would know she killed herself. She had wanted it that way.


	2. Dirty Blood

Author's Note: I wrote a second part to it, as **Sam** and (kinda) **Taintless** suggested. Another a/n at the end, so you can read now.

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You walk in. You walk in the door, the letter I spent hours writing gripped tightly in your hand, and you see me. I half-wish you didn't come.

You run across the room to me and fall, hard, to your knees. You pull me up off the brutal stone floor where I lay, sprawled out, unable to move any farther than I already have. Not that far at all.

You hold me tight, so tight it forces air out of my lungs and I cough, a pathetic little cough – the softest sound I've made in as long as I can remember. I'm so weak. You loosen your hold on me just enough so I can breathe; still you hold on to me as if I'm about to float away without you. And I am.

You look down at me and smile, or try to. I see tears forming in your mesmerizing grey eyes and you try to blink them away, and I give you the best smile I can, even though I know it isn't much, because I want to give you something good to remember, something you can think about if it gets too hard. And it will.

I see you watching me, I see that it hurts you to hold me, it burns your skin. Is it because I'm unworthy of you? Is it because you truly are so high above me that you can't bear the touch of me, no matter how much you say you love me? Or do you not really love me at all?

I see it in your eyes that you're remembering. I can almost see the reflections of the memories through the usually cold grey mirrors you house. The Yule Ball, especially. I can see you seeing me in the dress – do you know that I still have it? That I saw you looking at me that night, and it made me feel like that dress was all it took to make you see that I was a real person. And I kept it. I kept it and I saved it and I still have it, in my trunk, my newly-packed trunk upstairs in the dormitory. And sometimes, when nobody's around, I'll take it out of my trunk and put it on again, just for a minute, and remember the feeling it gave me that Christmas. I miss that feeling.

I feel hot now. I'm burning. I'm so unclean that I'm burning myself just by touch. In all my wildest dreams I never thought I was this filthy. It's good, then. I made the right decision. No one this dirty can be allowed to live. I'll just contaminate everyone I love, burn them, too. It's better this way.

I'm wet, too. Probably my inner magic trying to put out the fire on my skin, protect me from my own burning. The only good part of me, cleaning up after the bad. It's no use.

I'm too dirty. No amount of clean blood can fix that, whether it's the small amount of magic in me or yours, the feelings between us. I thought you could filter out the bad parts of me, make me whole and clean and **good** again. I thought you were a superhero. I thought nothing was beyond you. But who knows. Maybe I was right, and you can. But you won't.

The memories are still flowing through your mind, through your perfect eyes. The eyes that have seen too much bad and not enough good. The eyes that have spent countless hours watching _me_. Getting dirty. I'm sorry. I ruined you, just as I have ruined everything else. I see flecks of brown now that weren't there before. All my fault.

So hot... so wet... I can barely see anymore, can barely see your beautiful face, the face that was perfect before I marred it with my unworth. I see darkness now, and flames that pierce it. Flames... so hot, the heat is unbearable... it's the heat of my own unworth, my own filth, burning me up from the inside along with anyone else who dares come near me and risk their own lovely perfection. I know, now, that it will be over soon. I'm being punished. Feeling what I do to the people around me, harming them with my dirty, dirty blood. They shouldn't let me.

And I can see again. I see, just for a moment, your face, clearer than I have ever said it before. And I don't know what else to say to you, after all I've done to you, to your perfection. So many thoughts, emotions, but not enough words to name them, nor enough time to speak the words. You're fading again. Soon, I'll be gone from this world, never to dirty another Pureblood again. Two words, I say to you, and I hope you understand. "Thank you."

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**Author's Note**: And that's it. It doesn't completely go with the first chapter, but they're pretty close, I think, and remember - Hermione was pretty out of it at the time. Review responses below:

**Mrs. Black** - I'm sorry I made you cry, but I'm glad at the same time... thank you for reading.  
**Raye West** - Thank you! I try.  
**Sam** - I hope you don't mind I use your name... your penname is a bit longer, lol. Here's your other part of it, I think it does some explaining. I'm really glad you liked it, too. And I know what you mean - Dramione was meant to be angsty. Thanks for reading!  
**W1cked Angel** - Heh, just what I was trying for. Thanks!  
**Lissy** - Thanks!  
**sakuya-kaleido - **Yeah, I write a lot of one-shots... they tend to come out better than my novel-length, anyway. I'm glad you liked it, though!  
**Brittany** - Dramione was meant to be angst, and that tends to be sad. Thank you, I'm glad you liked it!  
**Taintless** - I know what you mean about suicide fics, a lot of people don't handle them properly and use them as cheap plot devices, which is disrespectful to a lot of people. I try to portray it as best I can, without the usual "and then he saved her and they fell in love and she didn't die, the end" thing. I'm sorry if you find reason to condemn this chapter, though. Here's another chapter for you greedy readers, though! lol

And **thank you** to anyone who read but didn't review for whatever reason... I _love_ reviews, but mostly because they let me know I'm being read.  
With that said, reviews are, as always, appreciated!

**_Jamie_**


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